


Not In Lone Splendour

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 'They're so gay and stupid' - A review, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Childhood Friends, If you read, It is, M/M, Mutual Pining, Please do this killed me, Rusty Quill Big Bang 2019, THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 3000 WORDS, There's more than even show up because some are screenshots of google docs, for aesthetic reasons, not that, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20184115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: Tela is a nation good at creating ties. Occulo is ruled by a man who can never turn down the opportunity for more power. And so a bargain is struck.The Prince will marry the Duke.Of course, neither of them have any say in this.





	1. 11

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! My piece for the RQBB! It got ENTIRELY OUT OF HAND! 
> 
> The accompanying art is here https://ravensablackfeather.tumblr.com/post/186902496343/drawing-accompanying-the-fic-not-in-lone done by the wonderful ravensablackfeather on tumblr/ ravensah_rah on twitter

‘But I don’t  _ want _ to go,’ Jon whined, in a tone of petulance only achievable by a child being forced into formalwear.

‘I know, dear,’ Elizabeth cooed, managing to wrangle him enough to get his tie on correctly, ‘but it’s important for your future, for the  _ kingdoms _ future.’

He stuck out his bottom lip, ‘But I don’t see why it’s  _ my  _ job. I want to stay here and read.  _ Georgie  _ doesn’t have to go.’ 

Upon hearing her name, Georgie perked up, placing the hairbrush she’d been fiddling with to the side. ‘Because I’m not a  _ princess _ . You’re the one that gets to be-’ her voice took on a mocking, accented air, ‘ _ -the young ward to King Elias, protege and heir.’  _

Jon thought, were his wrists not currently being clutched as Elizabeth put cufflinks into his shirt, he probably would have thrown a book at her in retaliation. He settled for sticking his tongue out in a decidedly unroyal fashion. Georgie returned the gesture. ‘Why are they making me get  _ married _ ,’ he spat the word like it tasted foul, ‘Can’t they just say ‘Occulo and Tela are going to stop having wars now’ and shake hands?’

Elizabeth hm’d softly as she picked up the brush her daughter had set down and began to run it through his hair. ‘It’s not quite that simple, love. There needs to be... An incentive. A deal made.’

Jon scowled. He resented the idea entirely, to be something passed around and fawned over, for his purpose to be something chosen by others and not himself. ‘So that’s me, then? Some prize Tela gets claim to?’ 

He saw Elizabeth grimace slightly in the mirror as she stood behind him. ‘That- Probably wasn’t the best way to phrase it, I’m sorry dear. I just meant your role in this is important, to keep the peace. You’ll still be you, you just…’ She trailed off, realising there was no way to make it sound less grim, especially to a child. ‘There’s some sacrifices that need to be made.’ 

Georgie had been quiet, contemplative. She knew when to hold her teasing in check, and she and Jon had been friends long enough that she could tell he was genuinely upset behind his annoyance and snark. Eventually she spoke, leaning forward on her stool, feet swinging where they dangled, not yet reaching the ground. ‘I hear he’s nice, at least. Queen Annabelle’s brother. They’ve been talking about him, down in the market. Say he’s a good choice. ‘Nice young lad’ I heard one lady say. I hope they’re right.’ 

Jon grimaced. ‘Not like it makes much of a difference.’ 

* * *

Jon tried not to pick at his nails as he stood beside the heavy throne, its polished wood and metal gleaming as the King sat upon it. Elias didn’t look at him, instead staring straight ahead, watching the crowd gathered in front of them. There was a small assembly stretched out in the hall, various figures from the court and other nobility congregated in waiting for the arrival of the kingdoms newest ally, a curiosity under their scrutinising gaze. 

Jon stiffened his posture as the grand oak doors at the entrance finally began to creak open, two guards pulling them aside. He clutched tight the book he’d been given to hold, as if pressing his nails into it’s soft spine would relieve the anxiety building up inside him.

Jon had never seen Queen Annabelle before, but there was no mistaking that the woman who walked through the door was royalty. Her gown trailed behind her, almost bridal in its white lace and flowing train, ebony crown perched on hair that bordered on silver, flowing to her shoulders and framing her dark face. 

There was a confidence in her stride as she walked down the path cleared through the crowd, that spoke of an ingrained regality. 

The figure stumbling nervously behind did not give the same impression.

He was bigger than Jon, which wasn’t saying much, but not in a brutish way. His demeanor made him seem smaller than he was, shrinking in on himself under the watch of the court. His curling blond hair was pushed back from his face, revealing freckles scattered across that told of a warmer climate than the cold and rain Jon was used to. His hands were clasped in front of him, carrying something Jon couldn’t make out.

Prince Martin Blackwood of Tela, to whom he was, today, to be betrothed. _Despise _is a very strong word to use for the emotions of an eleven year old but Jon was trying to summon up the closest he could amount. He _didn’t_ _want _to be here, _didn’t want _to be engaged to nervous royal he’d never met,_ didn’t want _to be engaged to anyone full stop because he was _eleven _and he knew he acted old for his age but he knew surely this was unfair. 

The small procession reached the front of the hall and ascended to the platform where the throne sat. 

Elias stood. ‘Queen Cane, it is a pleasure to have you here.’ 

‘Please, Elias, we’re  _ friends  _ now, call me Annabelle,’ she purred, reaching a gloved hand out in greeting. He took it. 

‘Of course, Annabelle,’ he nodded.

Annabelle coughed lightly, prompting Martin to jolt forward. 

‘Prince Martin Blackwood, of Tela.’ He bowed before jerking his hands forward, palms cupped to reveal a spool of silver. ‘Weaver’s Thread, our finest export, to represent, uh, union.’ 

Jon bowed in turn, and held out the book. ‘Duke Jonathan Sims, of Occulo. A written account of our country's history, to represent the sharing of our knowledge and resources.’ 

There was a pause, before they awkwardly exchanged items, not meeting the others eyes. 

Jon startled as Elias clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Not so bad, was it?’ He whispered. Jon gave a reluctant nod. Martin smiled weakly at him from across the podium. 

This was going to be a long week, Jon thought. 


	2. 12

‘Was your journey okay?’ Martin’s tone was still nervous, as if still unsure how to act around the other boy, a year on from their first and only meeting.

Jon would admit, though, that the guards who stood to attention at either side of the door did not put him at ease. He dropped his bags that he had adamantly insisted on carrying himself to the foot of the large canopy bed in the centre of the room. It was an overly luxurious thing, piled high with more pillows than Jon thought could be in the entire palace at home, with a mosquito net draped over it, web like and trapping. He shuddered. He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping.

‘Yes, it was fine,’ he said automatically, before thinking back to the rolling, roiling decks of the boat he’d spent the last two days on, and worrying the inside of his lip. ‘Though boats and I... I’m not fond of them.’ 

Martin rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, ‘Oh, uh, sorry. ‘Least you only have to visit every two years.’ 

Jon narrowed his eyes. ‘Quite.’ 

There was a lull, before Martin seemed to take notice of the guards. ‘You can, uh, go now. Thank you.’ 

They silently nodded and dispersed, but Martin grabbed the door behind them as to not let it close yet. ‘Do you want me to go too?’ His eyes flicked around the room.

A firm ‘Yes’ was almost out of Jon’s mouth, before he took time to consider it. The room seemed all at once too big and too trapping, as if sitting there too long would mean he could never leave. Eventually he stumbled through a response. ‘No. I- Uh. I don't quite want to be alone right now. If you don’t mind.’ 

Martin’s face lit with a childish glee, before seeming to realise and toning it back to an appropriately princely smile. ‘Of course.’ He let the door swing behind him, and cringing slightly as it closed with a just too loud a _ click _. He at least had the decency to look apologetic. 

There was a lull, as he tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, fingers playing at the shiny black cufflinks. Eventually he seemed to realise that Jon, despite asking for the company, was not going to be the one to initiate conversation. He coughed lightly, a small attempt to release the tension that was slowly but surely building between them. ‘We never really got the chance,’ he eventually said, seeming to choose his words carefully, ‘to talk, last time.’

Jon realised his skepticism must have been showing on his face when Martin began to make a series of frantic hand gestures. ‘Like- Properly talking. I don’t mean like... ‘ he paused, seeming to read Jon’s face for approval, before launching in a bad imitation of his sister, ‘_ Oh, Martin, here’s a script to learn and rattle off at the palace you’ve _ never been to _ while I arrange your future with no say whatsoever _.’ 

Jon, surprising himself, attempted and failed to suppress a laugh. Martin seemed pleased by this. ‘So you’re not enthusiastic about this either?’ he eventually replied. 

‘Gods no,’ he said, voice lowered, as if suddenly fearful that his sister might overhear. He made his way over to the bed, the room lacking chairs, and sat on gingerly on the edge. Jon reluctantly joined him. ‘It was- Well it was her idea. Annabelle’s. She thought it would help us prevent a- a war, with Occulo. I didn’t get a choice in the matter. I take it you didn’t either, then?’ 

Jon shook his head. ‘No. I can’t really complain though. Well, I did- do, complain. But King Bouchard, Elias.. I have no input. He took me in, after my parents died, no kids of his own so he wanted a _ protege. _No idea why he chose me, but,’ he shrugged, ‘got to be grateful, I guess.’ 

Martin nodded sympathetically, eyes on the ground. Jon tried not to be annoyed that his own feet didn’t quite reach the floor, overstuffed mattress be damned.

Eventually Martin responded, ‘Annabelle, she’s only been Queen a few years; since mum got sick. She wants to,’ he started making more hand gestures. Jon was getting the feeling that he did that a lot. ‘She wants to make the kingdom powerful. Be the one in control of.. Pretty much everything. This was just part of her plan.’ 

It was Jon’s turn to nod in understanding. After what he deemed an appropriate pause, he piped up. ‘Your sister, Annabelle.. She’s Queen Cane, but you’re Prince Blackwood. Why is that?’

‘Oh!’ Martin looked relieved at the change of tone. ‘It’s like, a family name. The royal name, that’s Cane. But our family is Blackwood. She’s still Annabelle Blackwood, that’s her name, but her title is Queen Cane, does that make sense?’ 

‘So you’d be King Cane?’ 

‘Yeah! Well-’ he flushed slightly, ‘I’d probably be King Sims, at this rate. Anyway,’ he swung himself round, curling up to sit crossed legged on the bed, facing Jon.’No more boring questions,’ Jon privately took a moment of resent the idea that a boring question was possible, before Martin continued, ‘If we’re stuck in this together, let me _ actually _get to know you. What’s your favourite colour?’ 

Jon snorted. ‘That’s kind of a childish one.’

Martin didn’t quite look aghast, but he was close. ‘I mean, we are kids. We have to act all regal and princely- or, well, dukely I guess - but it’s like... we’re kids. Sometimes I just want to get to enjoy that while it lasts.’ There was a pause, before Martin added, ‘Wait, am I _ older than you? _’ He must have sensed Jon’s question, because without a beat, he added ‘Thirteen.’

Jon trained his eyes back on the ground, brow furrowed. ‘Twelve.’ 

Martin laughed. ‘See, I am! Now, answer my question. What’s your favourite colour?’ 

Reluctantly, Jon mumbled out a response. 

‘Hm?’ Martin quirked his head. 

‘I _ said _, it’s green.’ 

‘Yellow. Your turn.’

‘..What?’ 

‘Ask me question. Anything you want.’

‘....Okay.’


	3. Letter #1




	4. 13

Jon couldn’t help but feel a little smug, as Martin let out a soft gasp behind him. Occulo’s palace library had somewhat of a reputation, and Jon took a certain amount of pride in it. 

‘It’s amazing,’ Martin said, craning his neck around to take in the full expanse of the room. The walls were piled high with shelves, colours and styles varying as more were added as the years wore on. It was like a timeline. Sturdy oak embedded in the wall closest to the doors, a now sun bleached birch hosting years worth of encyclopedias, and the newest addition, carved of intricate, glossy redwood, and currently with a young man running his hand along it’s collections spines- Poetry. Of course Martin would be the kind to flock straight towards the poetry. Jon gave a resigned sigh.

‘Find something interesting?’ 

‘All of it,’ Martin more breathed than said, fingers dancing along tome after tome of prose and proverb. He settled on a volume bound in red leather, silver cursive so extravagant Jon couldn’t even make out what title it proclaimed. Gently pulling it free of the row revealed the name. Jon wrinkled his nose. 

‘Keats? Really? That’s what you’re into?’ 

Martin gave him an indignant look. ‘Are you familiar with his work?’ 

‘Familiar and unimpressed by.’ 

The returning face was aghast. He snatched the book off the shelf with a viciousness Jon hadn’t seen in him before, and rounded on him brandishing the copy. ‘Right, you choose a book then.’

‘What?’ 

Martin gestured with the book, ‘You choose something, and we see how they compare.’ 

Jon gave a skeptical nod. ‘Okay…’

It took him a minute or two to puzzle out what to go for, but in the end he made a show of climbing one of the ornate ladders mounted to the walls, polished wood creaking as he selected one of the old tomes, dark blue leather worn but fine pages preserved as he skimmed through them. 

Martin was sitting in a corner when he made his way back down, pillows piled around him, nestled among them contently. ‘Oh- I uh, see you found that, then,’ Jon stuttered.

‘Hm? Oh- Sorry was I not supposed to-’

‘No, it’s fine, I just forgot I left it there.’

Martin’s eyebrows raised, ‘You made a book nest?’ 

‘Well, it was hardly just sitting there for no reason.’

‘Okay,’ Martin gave him a look, but pressed it no further. He patted the pillows next to him ‘Come sit.’ 

Jon complied with a huff, nearly sinking into the large pile. 

‘Well?’ Martin asked, gesturing to the grand tome in Jon’s hands. He held it up, and Martin just spluttered at him. ‘You’re so incredibly pretentious, oh my gods!’

Jon was rather proud of the dictionary he was clutching, and let himself grin about it. 

That earned him an elbow in the ribs, a surprise from Martin of all people, but he laughed through his wheezing. 

‘If you’re so proud of it then, defend your choice,’ Martin said.

‘Every possible story is in it! It’s every word, you just… Rearrange them and it’s different and new every time-’

‘’Cept you can’t repeat words.’

‘Well, no-’

‘What about ‘A’ then?’ 

‘... What?’

‘Well you’d have to repeat ‘A’.’ 

‘... ‘A’ isn't a word.’

‘Well, that just proves my point! It’s like… it’s an integral part of a sentence, if it’s not in the dictionary, then you’ve got nothing!’ 

‘Oh shove off,’ Jon replied, nudging him in the shoulder, ‘What have you got that’s so much better, then?’ 

Martin took a moment to look spiteful and rearrange himself on the pillows, before opening the copy to a page halfway through. Jon briefly wondered if he had the book memorised, how many times he’d thumbed through his own copy, perhaps annotating or underlining verses, or, criminally,  _ dog earring pages _ . Martin seemed the sort. Jon let him continue without complaint though.

When he began to read aloud, it didn’t  _ startle  _ Jon exactly. Just… It surprised him, the enthusiasm and reverence in his voice.

‘Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—  
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night  
And watching, with eternal lids apart,  
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,  
The moving waters at their priestlike task  
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,  
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask  
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—’

When he stopped, Martin had a distant look in his eyes, and a soft grin plastered on his face. ‘Doesn’t that make you feel… Something?’ 

‘Why would it?’ 

‘Because… Because it’s like… The imagery alone is beautiful. And the theme it conveys, of the star, so isolated and alone watching over the world, but admirable because it gets to watch forever…’ 

‘It doesn’t use ‘A’ though.’ 

Jon figured he probably deserved the pillow that smacked him in the ribs, but he managed to laugh through it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subtle reference to my other big fic, AND a title drop? Wow


	5. Letter #49




	6. 14

‘See? He’s a cutie, isn’t he?’ 

Jon recoiled from Martin’s cupped hands, distain blatant on his face. 

They were in the gardens of Tela’s palace, famed for their verdant diversity, acres of land sprawling out around them with more flowers and bushes than Jon could ever imagine being placed on Occulo’s manicured and clinical lawns. 

They had stopped, gravel pathway crunching under their feet, as Martin had leaned over to an oversized honeysuckle and scooped something from one of the leaves. 

‘A  _ spider?  _ No, no, no, you’re not putting that thing anywhere near me. Why do you even let it  _ do that _ ,’ he exclaimed, as it proceeded to wander in circles around his palm. 

Disappointment was clear on Martin’s face. ‘You don’t like them?’

‘Obviously not! Nasty little things, spinning their webs, crawling into places they’re not wanted and making their home.’

Martin looked crestfallen at that. ‘I- Suppose I never thought of it that way. I always try and make them feel welcome, anyway. Not like they have anywhere else to go. They’re so small, they could get hurt out there, or- eaten by a bird, or stepped on- It’s not hard to just, afford them a little kindness.’ 

It took Jon a minute to realise the conversation wasn’t entirely about spiders. 

‘I- Oh. I didn’t- Martin I swear I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Do you think I don’t like being your friend?’ 

‘I don’t know! You always seem kind of… Distant. Caught up in your own head, not letting anyo- Not letting  _ me _ in. I thought you’d be more annoyed, forced to come spend two weeks with someone who mumbles too much and shows you animals you hate.’

‘But the letters-’

‘You could have just been sending those out of politeness. Or- Well,’ he chewed his lip, worry creasing his brow, ‘Annabelle can be very… Manipulative, when she wants to. Elias can see everything, but Annabelle can take things and sort of.. Twist them. Make them do what she wants. I was worried she was just,  _ making  _ you be nice to me, gods know you’re rude enough to everyone else, or that- that it was me, doing it. Forcing you to be my friend.’ 

‘...You can do that?’

‘Maybe! I don’t know! But I’m terrified that I will some day. She’s not quite… Training me, like Elias does you. I don’t think she wants a rival. But it’s like… I don’t know… It could happen.’

‘You’d really turn down power like that?’ 

Martin’s laugh was near incredulous, ‘I don’t know. I hope so. I mean, it would be nice, but still… Horrifying. Just pulling at peoples strings until everything is as  _ you  _ want, or people behaving like that because they’re terrified of the alternative, of someone else poking around in their brain.’

‘I trust you wouldn’t do that.’

‘..What?’

‘You’re a good person. You wouldn’t do that, unless you had to. I trust you with that, if you trust me with whatever Elias is training me to become. Gods know I don’t want to become some kind of omnipotent, all seeing monster because of that. So I trust you if you trust me.’ He stuck a hand out. ‘Deal?’

Martin sniffled, before taking a deep breath, and returning the handshake. ‘Deal.’ 


	7. Letter #127




	8. 15

Martin didn’t visit, that year. His mother was dead, finally claimed by the illness that had taken the throne from her half a decade prior. 

Jon wanted to reach out, write to him, put some kind of meagre condolence down on paper, but every attempt just left too many ink stains on his hands and a scrunched up page on his desk.

He didn’t send anything, in the end. 


	9. 16

They don’t talk about it, when he arrives the next year. He’s taller still now, almost a head more than Jon, and when he greets the King, for the first time he doesn’t stoop lower in his presence. He’s changed. Jon isn’t happy, not with the circumstances of it, but he’s glad he seems more confident in himself.

When they’re alone, finally, left to wander the halls themselves with a guard escort shooed away, Jon lets himself be begrudgingly wrapped in a hug. 

‘I missed you,’ Martin said. 

‘Crushing my ribs,’ Jon mumbled into his shoulder. 

Martin quickly let go. ‘Oh! Sorry, sorry. I just- Missed you. This. Being here and not…’ he made a vague gesture behind him, ‘... There.’

Jon let out a small, exasperated huff. ‘I missed you, too.’ Quietly, afterwards, he adds, ‘I’m sorry. That I didn’t write. I didn’t quite know what to say.’ 

A look of quiet surprise came over Martin face, before forming back to that soft, sad smile. ‘It’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have got it, anyway. There’s been.. Problems, with receiving mail from outside the kingdom. We think they’re being intercepted, by Solus.’ 

‘That’s... Are they trying to engage conflict?’ Jon asked, a panic rising in his voice.

Martin looked pained. ‘We- We don’t know, quite yet. It could be something, or it could be nothing. But, anyway, I’d rather _ not _talk about that now, if it’s okay? Do something actually fun before we have to go off and be royal again.’

Jon nodded, jaw still clenched. ‘I-Okay. Sure. Let’s just... Walk.’

He couldn’t quite believe that even after years of wandering the halls of the palace together, there were still corridors and arches and doorways yet to discover. They talked aimlessly, little things to catch each other up on. Jon had almost finished his latin classes. Martin had a new favourite poet, no surprises there. The head chef’s cat had kittens and Georgie had desperately wanted one, so much so that she’d convinced Jon to keep it in his room for a week before her mother was persuaded. He tried not to notice how flushed Martin got as he described managing to fall asleep with the kitten on his chest. 

After a while, they found themselves at a set of doors Jon hadn’t even happened upon alone, despite his ten years of exploring the halls. Gold and ornate, they dwarfed every other door along the hallway, intricate moulding twisting into flowers, stars, and eyes. 

‘What is this?’ Martin asked, turning to him. 

‘I don’t… I’m not sure. I’ve never been here.’ 

Martin raised an eyebrow. ‘But you want to know, don’t you?’ 

Jon gave a shy smile. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’ 

They both stepped forward to push open one of the panes, creaking protest emitting first from the hinges, until it swung open. 

Jon didn’t even know the palace _ had _a ballroom. 

It was similar to the throne room, where they had first met years prior. The ceiling was high, vaulted and painted with tapestries in swirling gold, blue and white, walls adorned with candle holders and small, crystalline chandeliers. When they stepped forward, they were on a platform raised above it, two sets of stairs twisting off at each side, mirroring each other in their descent down to the main floor. 

When he looked over at Martin, his face was almost awestruck, eyes wide and taking in the spectacle. ‘How did you never know about this?’ 

Jon chuckled lightly. ‘Elias isn’t much for parties. I doubt it’s often used.’ Sure enough, a fine line of dust clung to his finger as he wiped it along a bannister, not enough to make the room seem grimey by any measure of the word, but enough to suggest a long standing disuse, and propensity to be forgotten by the cleaning staff. 

When he looked up, Martin was already starting down the stairs. He scanned the room again, before following. 

The floor was polished marble under their feet, a shining white with black shot through like veins, echoes clacking off it in time with their steps. 

He startled when Martin tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Your highness, care for this dance?’ 

Jon laughed. ‘What are you doing?’ 

Martin had one hand extended out to him. ‘It’s a ballroom, it seems only fair. Of course you don’t- You don’t have to, though,’ he added, foot scuffing on the floor. 

‘No, no, I suppose we may as well practise,’ he pulled a face, ‘_ For the future _.’ 

Martin laughed as they joined their hands, ‘Yeah, I guess.’

Annabelle had insisted upon him taking at least a few dance lessons, Martin told him, as he awkwardly attempted to spin Jon about, both laughing the whole time. Jon had no such training, and would have described it as ‘Shamefully bad’ if he had been with anyone other than Martin. 

They eventually broke apart, both still giggling, Jon still feeling the warmth on his back and hip from where Martin had delicately placed his hands. 

‘Okay, you might need some work,’ Martin said, still grinning. 

‘Perhaps just a bit.’ 

He leant back, pressing against the wall to catch his breath, and let out a panicked yelp as he fell backwards. 

Martin rushed forward, extending a hand to help him up, which Jon took, using his other hand to rub the back of his head. 

‘Could have sworn there was a wall there,’ he muttered. 

‘Curtain,’ replied Martin, pushing it aside from where it had swung back into place. 

Jon turned, and took in the space behind it. The walls were the same golden cream as the main ballroom, with a lesser, but still impressive, golden curling decal adorning the walls. A large bay window dominated the space, soft bench tucked into it with sun shining through. ‘Some kind of… Alcove?’ 

Martin brushed past him, into the small room tucked away behind the wall of heavy fabric. ‘It’s lovely.’ 

‘Cosy,’ Jon said, somewhat more dryly than intended. 

Martin sat on the bench with a sigh, draping his arms out somewhat dramatically. ‘You’d barely think it’s here, from the outside. You don’t even notice the curtain. Well, specifically, _ you _ didn’t,’ he added with a laugh.

‘I think that makes it ours, then.’ 

Martin laughed again, ‘Just claiming whole segments of palaces to win me over, now we are?’ 

Jon huffed, but joined him on the bench, choosing a spot where Martin’s arms were still ridiculously sprawled and letting him nonchalantly drape the arm over his shoulder. He ignored the tiny part of his brain that amiably suggested curling closer into the embrace. ‘Well, I don’t see why not. It’s going to be our palace some day, we’ve got to start somewhere.’ 

A hand squeezed his shoulder. ‘Ours then.’


	10. 17

‘So you just… know things now?’ 

Martin’s voice wasn’t sceptical, but there was an air of disbelief to it. He and Georgie sat opposite Jon, all three perched on counters in a newly deserted area of the kitchen. They’d met before, briefly, but this was the first year Georgie was working at the palace full time, so they’d snuck down to the kitchen to meet her on her lunch break. 

‘Well… Essentially, yes,’ he replied.

Georgie raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on, then. Know something.’ 

Jon made slight grumblings about misuse of power, but eventually closed his eyes. It was a hard thing, to describe Knowing. He wasn’t in control yet, not fully, like driving a carriage with minimal control of the reigns and no say in the speed. He leant forward and plucked away the apple Georgie was holding. ‘Worm in that.’ 

He received a polite applause in return, before squinting at the apple. Sure enough, a small hole was bored into one side, the skin tattered and rotting around it. He pulled a face, and tossed it to the bin.

‘You owe me another,’ Georgie winked, and Jon made more grumblings of ‘ _ Not his fault _ ’ before Martin pushed off the counter, offering to get one for her from the storage room. 

‘He seems nice’ Georgie smiled, leaning forward. 

‘Well, yes, but I could’ve told you that.’ 

‘Nice to finally meet him though,’ she picked at her fingernails, ‘Cute too.’ 

Jon sputtered.

‘What! I’m just saying! If you’re stuck with someone, at least you  _ actually  _ like him. And his face isn’t bad either. Freckles are cute.’ 

‘Don’t- Don’t  _ objectify  _ him!’ 

‘I’m kidding! But seriously, I like him too. Do you know if you’ll stay here, or are you moving over there?’ 

Martin gave a ‘ _ Hm? _ ’ as he re-entered, head poking in as he moved the sliding door aside. ‘Oh, are we talking about-’ 

‘Yes!’ Jon sputtered, ‘That’s- I’d never thought about that before. What do you think?’ 

Martin shrugged, pushing himself back up onto the counter and handing the apple to Georgie, who took it with a smile. ‘I always assumed we’d stay here. Elias wants you to rule next, right? Can’t do that an ocean away. Plus, I like it here.’

‘You do?’

‘Better than Tela. I think- I think when Annabelle proposed this- uh, for lack of a better word- she never really intended me to stay in Tela. She wanted me to be all regal and governing, but that would only happen after she was no longer queen. So I just assumed she had me in mind for somewhere else, you know?’ 

Jon nodded grimly, ‘That would make sense.’ 

Martin gave a feeble smile, ‘Not that bad. The libraries nice. Not too hot in summers. Georgie’s here,’ he added, lacing their fingers together playfully. 

She laughed, ‘And there I was thinking you’d be taking this idiot away from me and freeing me of my burden. What a foolish mistake.’ 

The giggling continued until a bell rang, signaling her breaks end, and the other two managed to flee the kitchens uncaught. 


	11. 18

‘I can’t believe I’m going to actually have to marry you soon.’ 

They were in the alcove, Jon lying along the bay window, stretched out as the sunlight poured through, like a lanky cat. His head was resting on Martin’s thigh as the other boy absentmindedly petted his hair. 

Martin stopped with a start, hand jarring. ‘What?’ he laughed slightly, ‘you know that’s kind of the whole reason I’m here right?’ 

Jon let out a huff, sitting up, and immediately leaning against Martin’s shoulder and folding his arms. ‘You know what I mean. It’s always felt like…’ he stretched an arm out in a vague gesture, ‘A distant idea. Not something we’d actually have to do.’ 

Martin scoffed. ‘Jeez, try not to sound so disappointed by it.’ 

An eye roll. ‘You’re the one who said he was only here because of it.’ 

Martin leant away, causing Jon to have to swing his legs round to a normal sitting position. ‘What? I was joking. Jon, are you okay?’ 

Jon let out an irritated noise, half grumble half sigh. ‘I know I’m not the most... Pleasant person, to be stuck with. Gods know  _ I  _ wouldn’t want to be stuck with me forever. You’ll never get to- to marry someone you  _ actually love _ , because Elias and Annabelle just  _ decided  _ this was best for- not even us, for kingdoms we don’t even want to rule! And I’m sorry about it. I truly am.’

Martin gaped for a moment, before putting his hand on Jon’s shoulder. ‘Jon, please don’t think like that. There’s… Well, there’s no one I’d rather be stuck with than you.’ 

‘But that’s not the  _ point,  _ you shouldn’t have to be stuck with-’ 

‘ _ Jon!’ _ and Jon had rarely ever heard Martin raise his voice, but he did then, other hand coming up to clutch at Jon’s other shoulder, forcing him into eye contact. ‘Jon, look at me.  _ I. Don’t. Care.  _ And should you not be more concerned about yourself? This is about you, too.’ 

Jon didn’t try to move away from the contact, but squirmed slightly under Martin’s gaze. There was something in his eyes, raw and pained, that he didn’t quite know how to deal with. 

Jon’s voice caught slightly, an ache seeping in, threading itself through his words. ‘That’s very kind of you to say, Martin, but you don’t have to comfort me on this. Relationships are- I don’t think they’d be as easy, for me, as for you.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I know I’m obnoxious, and obtuse, hardly one someone would want to have stood in front of them while someone else says “ _ This is the one. This is the one you’re stuck with forever _ ”. And you’re- You’re so  _ easy to love _ , Martin. You’re so relentlessly kind to people, including spiders, which just makes no sense as far as I’m concerned. You’re a prince who drafts poetry instead of war, because you’re driven by this need to  _ create  _ and  _ protect _ , to form ties instead of severing them. And-And sometimes the sun does this  _ thing _ , where it hits your face just right, and your hair looks like it’s been spun from gold.’ Jon blinked, admiring the way the light shone in through the large glassy panes, ‘So I’m more concerned about all the people that could fall in love with you, and you with them, and be so happy if it weren’t for this.’ 

‘And how hard is it to believe I’d choose you?’ 

‘...What?’ 

Martin let go of his shoulders, but stayed close, still staring into his eyes that Jon adamantly refused to believe were watering. ‘You can- You can ask me. Like, _ Ask  _ me. If you don’t believe me.’ 

He tilted his head in a  _ ‘Go on’  _ motion, and Jon stilled his rattling breath. ‘ ** _Do you really not care?’ _ **

Martin let out a low laugh, carding a hand through his hair. ‘I mean it’s the opposite, really. I care- I care so much about you Jon.  _ So much _ . To the point where, even without all of this, I think I’d happily spend my life with you anyway. Albeit maybe a few years later, but... Yeah. I love you. You’re so smart, except when it comes down to yourself. You’re funnier than people give you credit for, even me sometimes. And if we’re being sappy, I think your eyes are the most gorgeous thing in the world. I know this might not be- Quite warranted, but it’s better than you thinking I’d rather be anywhere else. But from what you said, I’m kind of hoping it is.’ His eyes were large and ernest, meeting Jon’s Knowing glazed ones with nothing other than adoration. 

Jon felt his stomach twist. Because if Martin was right about anything, it was that Jon was painfully unaware of his own emotions, a fact that was now hitting him at full force because all at once he was being hit with the realisation. _ He  _ was in love with Martin. He was in love with Prince Martin Blackwood, heir to the Telan throne and currently the man staring at him with concern, but also like he had hung the stars in the sky. 

The only thing that surprised Jon more than this fact, was that suddenly he was kissing him. It was incredibly awkward, his glasses pressing into the bridge of Martin’s nose, Martin’s hand slowly coming up to cradle the side of Jon’s face. His lips were soft, tentative but not unsure, so much so that it took Jon a moment to realise he had been the one to initiate it. 

When they broke apart, Jon realised he had shifted, moved so now he was practically in Martin’s lap. He hesitated slightly, before moving fully over, and Martin looked blushing and bashful as Jon pressed their foreheads together. Martin’s arms moved to wrap around his waist, pulling him into a closer embrace. 

Martin made a soft ‘Oh,’, breathed against Jon’s mouth and he resisted just kissing him again. 

‘Yeah,’ was the eloquently offered response. ‘I think- I think I could get used to that. This. Forever.’ 

Martin pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

Jon couldn’t hold back the excited giggle that bubbled up, uncharacteristic but feeling right in the moment. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, soft and fragile, like the secrets whispered back and forth years ago. 

Martin gently nodded. ‘I know. I kind of heard,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘guess you need to work on that more, dear.’ 

He tried not to melt at the name. He felt his cheeks flush more than they doubtless already were, but accompanied it with an eye roll. ‘Oh shut up, magic is hard.’ 

They relaxed back into an easy routine, sitting for what could have been minutes or hours, kissing softly, lazily, and talking like they always had. 

The noise of a curtain being thrown aside, terrifyingly loud in the silence, managed to kill the mood. Jon startled, quickly moving back into his own space, not that the trio of guards who had entered seemed to care. 

One stood forward. ‘Prince Blackwood, you are required back in Tela immediately. A ship is preparing to depart.’ 

Martin squeaked as the guard continued forward, putting a hand on his back and ushering him towards the door. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ 

A second guard piped up, tone gruff. ‘Solus has declared outright war on your kingdom. The Queen requests your presence. Your belongings are already being gathered and moved, we can’t delay.’

Jon sprang up, hurriedly walking after the procession. ‘You’re just- Leaving?’ 

Martin turned, his face etched with pain. ‘I- I have to. If Solus is preparing an attack, I need to return home. But I’ll be back soon, I promise,’ Martin reached out, grabbed Jon’s hand, and quickly pressed a kiss to his knuckles before letting it drop away. 

Several more guards joined the escort as it made its way through the palaces twisting hallways, until Jon could no longer keep sight of Martin. He pressed his back to a wall, cold and marble, letting himself slide down it, bringing his knees up to his chest. 

He was scared. He was in love. And for the first time too few years, Duke Jonathan Sims was truly alone. 


	12. ???

He Looked for him, of course. Spent hours sitting on the floor, back to the wall, stubbornly refusing to believe his eyes were watering from anything more than staring ahead for prolonged amounts of time. 

It didn’t work. Static flooded his senses when his mind attempted to probe towards Tela, a blankness so encompassing it was painful. 

He gave up after a year. He didn’t try to send any more letters. 


	13. Letter Unsent




	14. After

The heat was the first thing that hit him as he cracked the door open. Georgie fanned herself next to him, the humidity of a room full of hundreds of dancing bodies being something neither were accustomed to. 

His hand came up to fiddle with the mask that hugged his face, doing nothing to lessen his less than ideal amounts of nervous sweating. Georgie held hers slightly away from herself, hers a shorter mask that only covered her eyes, unsubtly crafted in the likeness of her cat, and attached to a short stick. Jon tried not to be jealous. 

Jon eventually trained his eyes on the main entrance. The door the two  _ should  _ have entered through, had Jon not convinced Georgie to take him through a back door in the staff’s quarters, bringing them out at a subtle opening at the side of the room. 

She nudged him forward gently. ‘Better get going then. Your adoring public awaits.’ Her tone was nervously joking, alight with her own anxieties, but it still made his stomach lurch. 

‘Yes. I suppose so.’

They pushed through into the crowd. 

Ten years Jon had avoided this room. The ballroom spread out before him seemed vast, looming around him as the presence that flooded it twisted it into something unfamiliar and strange. It was familiar in it’s golden intricacy of painted ceilings and lavish adornments, seared into his mind, but now glittered and sparkled where before it had been dust and dullness. 

Elias would be wondering where he was. He was  _ at  _ the ball, he couldn’t fault him for that, he just couldn’t stomach coming through the main entrance. The prodding and preening that would entail, members of the court attempting to sidle up to him and indoctrinate themselves into his good graces, congratulate him on this day and  _ wasn’t it about time,  _ and  _ wonderful thing you’re doing for the country,  _ and  _ never been to Tela myself but I’ve heard it’s gorgeous this time of year.  _

He knew he’d have to return being fawned over eventually, stand before the crowd and read out words that weren’t his to- Well it didn’t matter who. 

A couple brushed past him, giggling as their dresses trailed along the ground, and he stepped back, narrowly avoiding a collision with a waiter. He found himself now next to a cluster of musicians, strings deftly plucked and bows twirled in nimble hands against instruments that told sweet melodies that he didn’t care to hear. 

It took him a moment to realise Georgie was gone. Her swirling copper dress had disappeared among the crowd, lost among spinning and side stepping and those just stopped to chat. He could feel the panic rise in his chest, subtle but steadily there, creeping through his ribcage and veining it’s way up to burrow deep in his heart. The noise and the people and the mask that clung to his face like a false skin were near overwhelming, and he desired nothing more than to be anywhere else at the time. 

The movement towards the wall was instinct, fight or flight pleading with him to flee, or it not to avoid as much of the sensory chaos as possible. He’d always suspected he had a hatred for parties and this was only confirmed now as he attempted, blessedly successfully so, to calm his breathing. The sounds were all at once too much and too little, like muffled through water but played at twice the speed. 

And then the wall next to him twitched. 

‘ _ Bloody alcove _ ,’ he whispered, soft velvet running beneath his fingers as he tugged at the side of the curtain, and slipped behind it.

The sound of the party immediately dulled behind the heavy weight of the fabric, a barrier placed between him and the cause of his overwhelm. The room was nearly exactly as he remembered it. Moonlight shone through the bay windows, illumination assisted by small candles adorning the walls. The sconces had been empty when they found it originally, and they’d placed the candles there themselves while staying in it overnight with Georgie, the three of them curled in various positions with stolen blankets and pillows dragged halfway across the palace. The same candles were lit in it now. Everything was the same. 

There was a figure leaning against the wall. 

He startled, too, at Jon’s presence, careful arm folded demeanour slipping at the intrusion. He was dressed aptly for the ball, emerald waistcoat and white shirt tailored beautifully, evidently a higher up noble on the guest list. The thing that unsettled Jon was his mask, lines of silver woven together in a tapestry of webbing. Almost every other guest had chosen an animal to grace their visage, and the spiders creation he wore so easily was out of place, Jon’s own prejudices set aside. These prejudices reared through again when he faintly thought that  _ well, at least it wasn’t a whole spider _ .

The figure coughed. 

‘Oh! I didn’t- Didn’t know anyone would be here, my apologies. Should I-’ he scrunched the curtain in a clenched fist, prepared to pull it back again and retreat, ‘-I’ll just be on my way.’

‘No, it’s okay! I don’t- It’s fine! I don’t mind, you can stay. I just didn’t expect anyone else to find it. I thought it was… Secluded enough.’ 

Jon lessened his grip on the curtain, but kept it in hand. ‘Again, I apologise for intruding, I just… It’s rather... A lot, out there.’ 

The man grinned, bright smile highlighted under the frame of the mask. ‘I can hardly fault you for that, then I’d just be a hypocrite.’ 

Jon let the curtain drop, and wandered forward, tentatively trying to stroll with confidence he didn’t have. ‘Not fond of parties yourself?’ 

The man relaxed, slouching back against the wall again. ‘Not particularly, no. It doesn’t really… Help, with anxieties.’

‘You’re at the Occulan palace, what have you got to be worried about?’ Jon took a seat on the bench, trying to ignore how wrong it felt, a chill seeping up his spine despite his recent escape from the cloying heat of the party. ‘Well, besides nearly everything about being in court, but you look like you can probably handle that.’

He ran a hand through slicked back hair, blond in a way that made Jon’s heart twitch in an ache. ‘Ah- I’m just not sure I’m… Wanted here, exactly.’ 

‘Pretty hard to get an invite. El-’ he cut himself off ‘ _ King Bouchard  _ doesn’t offer a hand to just anyone, I’m sure he wants you here for some reason. Whether that’s a good thing or not, well, that part’s up for debate.’ 

The laugh he gave was nervous and twitching. ‘Oh he does, it’s not him I’m worried about.’ 

Jon felt an eyebrow raise under his mask, ‘Then who? You upset someone in the court?’ 

‘I don’t think that’s quite any of your business, anonymity and all, Mr Owl…’ 

Confusion lapped over him, before he remembered the design that adorned his face. ‘Of course. Apologies, again.’ 

He gave a small smile. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ 

There was a pause, bordering between comfortable and awkward, while neither spoke, until the man leaned forward from the wall again and joined him on the bench, sitting at the opposing end, but body turned to face him. 

‘So why come?’ he finally offered.

‘Hm?’ was Jon’s eloquent response. 

‘If you don’t like parties, why are you here? Fearful to turn down an invitation from the King? Or just… Poor self preservation instincts?’ 

‘ _ Bit of both, really _ ’ he muttered, and was grateful when the other man didn’t appear to hear it, or at least gave no indication. He cleared his throat. ‘I uh, have to be here. Not my choice.’ 

‘That’s… Odd, to say the least, but I won’t pry, again, bit hypocritical of me.’

‘Gracious of you,’ Jon said dryly. ‘But I’d kind of like to.. If you don’t mind, I’d rather talk about it? Speaking out loud has a way of clearing the head, you know?’ 

He nodded. ‘In that case, I’m all ears.’ 

‘Right.’ Jon coughed nervously. ‘I’m avoiding someone. Well, also, it’s just,’ he waved a hand to the curtain, ‘Madness out there, but it’s all contributing to the same problem. I haven’t seen them in years and so I’m… Avoiding them. Because that’s easier than the alternative, I suppose.’

‘Did you end something on bad terms with them?’

Jon gave a hollow laugh. ‘The opposite really.’ 

‘How so?’

‘I love him. I truly do. But it’s been ten years and… I think he’ll have figured out that he’s worth so much more than being stuck with me. Plus, ten years… I’m sure we’ve both changed. I’m  _ scared _ , really. Of disappointing him. Of him being different, too, I guess, gods know what’s happened to him after all this time, mostly terrible things. Of us not being the people we used to be, forced back into the same scenario we were in. Stuck in a web together while spiders pluck at the strings we can’t control.’ 

The voice was closer, this time. ‘Do you really think you’re so intolerable that the man who loves you most in the world would just… Forget about you? Jon, I’m pretty sure you’re the one thing that's kept me sane these last years.’

‘Martin I can’t just expect him to have  _ waited for me,’  _ Jon snapped, rounding on the figure, who was now sitting next to him, leaning into his space.

A soft, sad smile played at his lips, affection and melancholy moving over the visible parts of his face. And-

Oh.

Martin. 

He’d said-

Barely a whisper, ‘ _ Martin _ .’

‘Took you long enough,’ was the reply that sent shots of terror and adoration through his heart. 

And suddenly Martin was leaning forward, brushing his hair back from his forehead to gently lay a kiss on the space above his mask. 

‘Is.. Was that okay? It’s- I know it’s been a while but I just... Really needed to do that. I’ve been thinking about that for ten years.’

‘ _ More than fine _ ,’ Jon replied, but it ended up lost against the other man's mouth as he pulled him closer by the front of his waistcoat. Their masks scraped against each other but Jon found he cared about little in the world besides the feeling of the Prince’s lips against his and their hands running through the others hair. 

‘What happened to you?’ he said softly, when they finally broke apart. 

‘Solus cut us off entirely-’

‘How do they cut off a whole country-’

‘Not just the country. All of it. Everything. It was… It was like living in a fog. A siege on every single connection that could be made. Devastating on Annabelle, of course, connections and ties and weaving together threads, that’s how she rules. It took her ten years of.. Nothingness. Numbness. To build up the strength to finally overpower it. Drive Solus’s forces away. Jon it was… It was awful. I don’t even  _ remember  _ most of it, it’s just… A daze. The isolation, it does something to you. I don’t think people are ever really going to recover,’ his voice was tearful, and Jon could see water edging over the brim of the masks eyes, ‘But I had you. I told you, I made a promise, and now I’m back.’ He gave a grin even as his voice cracked, ‘I had to come get my fiancé, you know?’ 

Jon’s laugh was both bitterness and hope. ‘I tried. I need you to know that I tried, okay? I tried to hard to find you, in that place, tried to Know or See but I just got… Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Void and static. I was so worried, Martin,’ his arms were wrapped around Martin’s middle, head lodged under his chin, ‘You’re really back.’ 

‘Of course,’ he croaked, ‘Elias wouldn’t just throw a ‘Tela’s free now let’s immediately ally with them,’ party for nothing.’ 

‘There’s… Yes. There’s that matter to deal with.’

Martin angled himself to press a kiss to the top of Jon’s head. ‘Well, you know I have no problems with going through with it.’ 

‘Don’t you, though?’

‘Jon, if you need any more proof I love you-’ 

‘That’s not what I mean,’ he said, still somewhat breathless at hearing the words again. ‘I mean all of this. Elias and Annbelle’s ‘master plan’ to have us sitting in this palace forever becoming nothing more than just…  _ Them.  _ I don’t want that. I want to have a life that doesn’t revolve around hierarchies and monarchies and and a host of other things I don’t care about. Because what I care about is  _ you _ and right now, that’s all that matters.’ 

‘Okay. So we just… We can leave?’ 

‘... Really?’ 

‘Yes? I know it’s… Stupid and idiotic and foolish and a hundred other words to mean the same but… We  _ could  _ just leave.’ 

‘They’d send guards, Martin, we couldn’t risk-’ 

‘They wouldn’t find me. Well,  _ couldn’t _ find me. The fog takes it’s toll, but in this case let’s consider it a… Lingering benefit. I am entirely untraceable my magical means. They could send their best Hunter after me, and to them I’ve never existed. I think it would extend to you. Hope so, at least. Fog tends to seep.’ 

‘So we could really just.. Up and leave?’ 

‘I think so.’ 

‘... We’d have to tell Georgie. She could- She could help us. Get us out once we’ve got what we need.’ 

Martin’s hand was soft in his but gripped him oh so tight as he rose to his feet. ‘Let’s do it then.’ 

Jon stood up after him. ‘Wait.’ 

Martin froze, tense. 

‘No, nothing bad just. Before we go. I think it’s about time I actually do this.’ 

As he dropped down, he was relieved to find the rings were still in his pocket. ‘Martin Blackwood, prince of nothing, will you marry me?’ 

Martin hauled him to his feet. ‘You’re such a sap.’ 

‘Says the poet,’ he said, pulling him into another kiss. 

The curtain parted as each slipped out, leaving the alcove empty.


	15. Happily Ever

They say there’s royalty, in the flat above the bakery. 

They’d be quicker to deny the words, just a florist and a librarian, they’d say, looking bashful. A serving girl from the palace vists them every Sunday morning, and they eat bread from the bakery and drink sweet tea from the market and talk in their cosy living room.

They’re getting married soon, if the rings on their fingers are any signifer, but they already seem so content with their lives, to think any additional joy could be brought is nigh impossible. 

The Prince and the Duke are missing. If any connections are made, none voice it. There would be no greater cruelty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. THAT WAS MORE THAN I ANTICIPATED. This BB has taught me so much and was such a wonderful experience! Thank you to my amazing artist Raven, and @space.fiasco for helping me edit! 
> 
> I'm @radiosandrecordings on tumblr and @elfgrunge on twitter if you wana yell things at me for whatever reason, or see me yell more things, mostly about TMA


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